Fighting the Odds
by keru.m
Summary: Mac resolves to fight for her four percent. Now to muster her resolve and inform the other party.


Disclaimer: Don't own'em

**A/N: **This was written in response to a challenge, where a story had to be written using a prompt. My prompt was:_Give up for a second and that is where you will finish. You face a major challenge now, but persist and you will win the admiration of one most important to you._ Takes place in season 10, following Four Percent Solution. Thanks to Pixie for the beta.

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**Fighting**** the Odds**

Mac stood outside Harm's apartment, hand suspended in midair, unable to knock on his door. This was silly. She'd been in this exact same spot not too long ago and had found the courage to knock. That time, Harm hadn't answered the door; Alicia Montes had. And it had sent her courage scuttling to the dark corners of the hallway. She'd hoped that it would slink back to her tonight. After all, a lot had happened since that night, including one meaningful conversation with Harm and many more with Commander McCool. Which were why she was here. If only her cowardly courage would find its way back to her.

This time, Alicia Montes wouldn't answer the door. And even if she did, Mac wouldn't walk away. She would invite herself in for dinner—hopefully they hadn't gotten beyond dinner yet, it was still early—and find a way to tell Harm that four percent wasn't too much of a gamble. And then convince them both their future was worth staking on those odds.

But first she had to knock.

Mac rapped her knuckles against the wooden door and held her breath. Please let him be alone. It would make this so much easier. She'd never really fought for a man's attentions before, let alone Harm's. Tonight, however, was about more than fighting for Harm's attentions. She was fighting for herself. The last year and a half had shown her that giving up on a sure friendship hurt a hell of a lot more than hoping for an unsure love. And sessions with Commander McCool had shown her that she was suffocating her chances at happiness. That was even sillier than searching the dark corners of a hallway for courage.

The door swung open and Harm stood before her. Alone. She released her breath. Her heart resumed beating.

"Mac. Hi." The surprise was evident in his tone. He studied her warily, concern creasing his brow.

"Hi."

She waited for him to invite her in, but he just kept staring at her. She fought the urge to straighten her clothes or check her hair.

"Umm, am I interrupting something?"

He shook his head quickly, ending his unnerving scrutiny of her. "What? No, no." He opened the door for her. "Come on in."

"Thanks." She took two steps into his apartment and stopped, unable to go any further inside. Awkwardness rooted her feet to the floor and made her skin itch. This was hard, and he didn't even have any company over. She threw a glance behind her, catching a glimpse of the hallway before the door shut. Her courage had chosen to stay outside. Wimp.

"Let me take your coat," he offered.

Mac hesitated before shrugging out of her jacket and her discomfiture. She handed Harm her jacket, but couldn't shed the discomfiture.

Harm took her coat and hung it up. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Maybe some …" He trailed off, raising an expectant eyebrow.

She bit her lower lip, waiting for him to finish. They both knew which drink she would choose.

"… Hot chocolate?" He continued, a smile lit his eyes.

"Yes, please." She nodded, finding herself excessively pleased by the inane exchange. It seemed that some things about them would never change. Some things, on the other hand, needed to.

"Hot chocolate it is," he said gallantly.

He headed to the kitchen. She followed two steps behind and sat on one of the barstools, watching him as he worked. It was comforting to know that such normal activities as making a warm drink on a cold day still took place in the world.

His voice brought her attention back to him. "So, what's up?"

This was it. She took a steadying breath. "I had an appointment with Commander McCool today."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He glanced at her over his shoulder, a guarded look on his face.

She saw expectation coil itself around his frame as he waited for her answer, tightening his grip on the spoon he was holding. She hated that he had to go through all of this on her account; she wished things were simpler.

"She said I should interact with people. Talk about things. Anything, that is. Not necessarily about …" Her words anchored themselves to her tongue. She wanted to say, 'And I can only do that with you'. But the words wouldn't let go.

Harm nodded. He opened his mouth to say something. She cut him off quickly, not yet ready to relinquish control of this conversation. "How's Mattie?"

He turned his gaze back to the saucepan in front of him, stirring its contents steadily. "She's doing well. School's out for Christmas, but she won't be able to visit until well into the New Year. Tom's taking her on a ski trip to Vermont. Mattie plans on snowboarding. It's way cooler than skiing, apparently. But I'm just paraphrasing. Her actual words were: 'It's sick'. I assumed that was a good thing."

She heard his smile and swallowed the wave of nostalgia that roiled her heart. She had missed him so much this past year, his easy-going tone, his devil-may-care smile. She struggled to keep her voice light. "Better snowboarding than aerial skiing."

Harm laughed and shot her a warning glare. "Don't you go giving her any ideas."

"Me?" Mac threw up her hands in exaggerated innocence. "Wouldn't dream of it. My hands get sweaty at the mere thought."

"I'm with you, there. I prefer to fly with wings strapped on."

They both laughed at the image that conjured.

"Hey," he continued after a moment, "I have sugar cookies in the cupboard by the fridge."

"Really? I love sugar cookies!" She paused. "But, since when do you stock them?"

His shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug. "Consider it my attempt at getting into the holiday spirit."

"But you don't even like sugar cookies." Maybe he'd bought them before he found out that Mattie couldn't make it. "Does Mattie—"

He stopped stirring and turned. Their eyes locked and the intensity of his gaze caught her off guard. Maybe this would be less of a fight and more of a mutual surrender. Maybe he'd already surrendered and was waiting for her to put her weapons down. The idea of facing him without any defences unsettled her. She looked away, breaking eye contact.

She wanted to kick herself. Attempt number one: failure due to retreat. She'd have to try again.

She thought she heard him sigh, but when he resumed speaking she detected no sign of regret. "I also have ginger snaps. And chocolate fingers."

"Ginger snaps." Those brought back memories. "As a kid, I always wanted to make a gingerbread house. Well, not make it as much as decorate it." She looked up to see Harm watching her, his eyes awash with tenderness. She fought the urge to fidget and instead shifted her gaze to the saucepan behind him. "I always knew exactly how it would look, too, with icing, gummy bears, candy canes, smarties, chocolate squares." The idea of a house made of candy always warmed her. It seemed to be one of those dreams she'd never outgrown.

Harm's chuckle drew her attention away from herself, "You've given this a lot of thought."

She shrugged, "Christmas in our house wasn't the stuff of fairytales. I liked to imagine what it could be like the next year, if maybe I …" She stopped, catching herself before she said too much. "Well, the next year."

What had she been about to do? She didn't want to talk about the litany of regrets and sadness that littered her life like driftwood after a receding tide. As it was, she could imagine the look of pity on Harm's face; she couldn't bear to see it. So she kept her stare on the saucepan full of warm milk and chocolate. And it wasn't as though every Christmas had been bad, either. There'd been good things in her life, too.

"But when Uncle Matt was around, it was great." For the first time tonight – hell, for the first time in a long time – she felt genuinely happy. "One year, he got a permit to go to Prescott National Forest to cut a fresh tree. He took me with him, let me pick the tree." She laughed wistfully. "I picked a beauty, too. Full and tall. Right out of a story book."

Her smile faded as the rest of the memory took shape.

"My father had a fit, though, when it came time to throw out the tree after Christmas, at the mess it made. It was an unpleasant Thursday night." She paused, remembering. "Friday was when the city collected the trash. Thursday was when my dad got his pay check." Mac took a breath. She was rambling.

"Anyways, Uncle Matt stopped coming over for Christmas after that." She sighed. "I always wish I'd asked him for a gingerbread house, instead." Remembering that she was in Harm's kitchen, Mac shook her head lightly, dismissing the memory.

She looked at Harm and found he was still watching her. She refused to acknowledge the look of pity she knew he would be wearing. This was the first time she had ever talked about her Christmas tree or her secret wish to decorate a gingerbread house. Her gut felt like lead at having parted with something she had kept hidden for so long. Yet, oddly she felt ten pounds lighter. So instead of trying to figure out what Harm was thinking, she grinned. The room really did seem a little brighter. It felt good to talk. Well, more good than bad. Maybe McCool wasn't such a quack after all.

"I'll get those cookies while you finish up the hot chocolate. Cupboard by the fridge, right?" She waited for his nod.

"Right."

Mac headed to the cupboard and pulled out several packages of sugar cookies wrapped in cellophane and ribbons.

"Wow. You really did go all out." She reached into another cupboard for a plate and began arranging the cookies, amused by Harm's sugary flight of whimsy, "You got all kinds of shapes here: Santas, reindeer, snowmen …" she trailed off, puzzled.

"What?" His question cut through her confusion.

"What is this supposed to be?" She stared at the oddly bent cookie she was holding. If she squinted, it might pass for a candy cane.

"Which one?"

She held up the cookie for him to see.

He barely spared it a glance.

"It's a sleigh." He answered without hesitating and returned his attention to the hot chocolate.

"You don't think it looks like a candy cane?" She looked at it again. "It looks like a candy cane."

He came up to her and took the cookie, examining it carefully. "Definitely a sleigh." He turned it around in his hands and took another look. "Oh, _now_ I see the candy cane."

"Poor workmanship." She shook her head in disapproval. "But hey, it's not like you're an expert at buying cookies."

Harm grinned. "There's one way to solve this puzzle, Mackenzie."

She paused in the middle of arranging the Santas to look at him. "And what's that?"

He held her gaze as he slowly brought the cookie to his lips. He took a small nibble, and then a larger bite. He chewed thoughtfully before giving a decisive nod. "Definitely tastes like a sleigh to me."

She laughed at his silliness while he kept grinning at her, watching her arrange the cookies. As the seconds stretched, the weight of his stare made her self-conscious. His eyes had the same look they'd had at the admiral's Dining Out, when he'd told her he was willing to cash in on their five-year old deal. Deliberately, Mac lined up the last of the Santa cookies on the plate to buy time.

"All set." She forced a genial tone. "How's that hot chocolate coming along?"

Now she really wanted to kick herself. Attempt number two: failure due to retreat. She'd have to try yet again.

Harm pushed himself off the counter. "It's ready to dazzle your taste buds. Bring the cookies with you." He grabbed two mugs, poured the hot chocolate into them, and headed to the couch in the living room, cocoa in hand. Mac followed with the cookies, wondering at his mood. He was being incredibly patient with her. She wished things were simpler.

They made themselves comfortable on the sofa, and Mac picked a snowman-shaped cookie off the plate, only because the snowmen had more icing sugar than the other shapes. She noted the small tree in the corner of the room, its branches bent under the weight of the ornaments. It must be a remainder from his Christmas last year, with Mattie. He didn't usually decorate his tree with such gusto. She glanced at Harm. He seemed to be searching his hot chocolate for the answers to life's mysteries.

"The hot chocolate is great. Thanks, Harm." Mac bit back a sigh and stared at the coffee table. Wonderful, Mackenzie. That was a shameful way to kick off her third attempt. She wondered just how far down the hallway her courage had retreated.

"My pleasure." Harm set his mug down and sat back. She felt his eyes resting on her.

Silence crept back into the space between them. Mac sipped her cocoa and tried to formulate another earth-shattering comment.

Harm beat her to it. "Have you spoken with Chloe recently?"

"I haven't been much good at …" Mac sighed, her gaze shifted back to the tree. "That is, after all that happened, I needed to regroup. I haven't made any social calls in a while."

"Hence McCool's recommendation," he said slowly, in that way he did when he was processing new information.

"Hence." She nodded, grateful that he understood and yet worried about what he would say next.

"I don't know if you want to hear this, Mac, but I admire you."

Abruptly, she turned in her seat and stared at him. "Admire me? I've left a trail—" Mac stopped herself. She was doing it again. Saying too much. If she kept this up, she would end up spilling everything to him and she didn't know if there were enough paper towels in the world to clean up this kind of mess. She looked away.

He brushed her hair away from her face, his fingers gentle against her skin. She froze, startled. Her need to lean into his touch vied with her instinct to jerk away, leaving her paralyzed. It was a disconcerting struggle. She hoped he couldn't see it.

"But you're here, Sarah, aren't you?"

Good point. She was here. She had knocked on his door. Now she had to fight. Or surrender. She was too nervous and off-balance to remember what exactly she was supposed to do, beyond take a gamble on her four percent.

"Harm." Mac cleared her throat. "Can I ask you something?" She could do this. She would see this attempt through.

"Sure." He sounded wary, and she considered withdrawing her question. But his fingers were still in her hair and his hand was resting on her shoulder, so she plowed ahead. She would see this through.

"Umm. Just answer. You don't need to comment or say anything. Just yes or no. Okay?" So far so good. She didn't think she sounded too nervous. She fiddled with her mug while he considered her request. Harm took the mug away and set in on the table before speaking.

"Yes," he paused. "How am I doing so far?" He was trying to put her at ease but she could see the apprehension lurking behind his grin.

Mac tried to smile but failed. She tightly clasped her empty hands together and rested them on her lap.

She took a deep breath. "When I came by the other night, Professor Montes was here and I … well …" Suddenly, Mac wasn't sure what exactly she was doing. Was she allowed to ask Harm what he was doing with Alicia Montes, what his plans were with her? Did she even have the right? Over the years of their friendship and that nebulous spectre of something more, so many lines had been drawn and blurred and erased and redrawn that she'd lost track. She didn't know where she stood anymore. She wasn't sure what she could ask without intruding or where she could intrude without being unwelcome

To hell with courage. She'd work with her fear of failure: she'd be damned if she screwed up three times at the same mission. She braced herself. "I was wondering if you and she were …" The tremor in her voice irritated her. "Are you seeing her?"

"No." He sounded amused and yet, somehow, cautious.

Mac held relief at arm's length. The feel of his fingers in her hair was shoring her resolve. Maybe her courage had just needed a little coaxing. "Are you interested in her? In seeing her?"

"No." The note of finality in his tone caused her to glance at him. He was watching her again, in the same way he had at the admiral's Dining Out.

Now she welcomed relief with open arms, embraced it like a long-lost cousin. She closed the distance separating her from Harm, pulled her legs up under her on the couch and laid her head against his shoulder.

He put his arm around her, rested his cheek against her crown and sighed, the tension in his bearing seeping away.

She stayed where she was, her head on his shoulder and her gaze on the small tree in the corner. "Are you still here?" It seemed to her that her voice had been robbed of any certainty, any strength. She cleared her throat.

"Yes." His spoke just above a whisper. She closed her eyes and concentrated on how his words felt against her hair.

His answer inched open a door that she thought had been shut. "You'll always be here, won't you?"

"Yes." It was a promise and a confession. She fought back the tears.

"You're still waiting."

"Yes."

She sighed. All this time wasted in doubting. "And I'm being unfair to you."

"No." He was emphatic, his tone sharp with conviction.

She turned her face up to him, knowing that he wasn't being honest. She was being unfair, letting her insecurities and the trauma of the last year govern her behaviour and question his.

The wariness she saw in his eyes saddened her. She vowed to make it up to them both. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I'm ready."

"What?" he stared at her, looking genuinely startled.

She felt the urge to laugh; all that came out was a tremulous breath. "It was really hard to say the first time. Do I really need to say it again?

He took her hand in his, his other arm still wrapped around her. "No." The way he said it made her suspect he was the one now hugging relief like a long-lost cousin.

This time, she did manage a quiet laugh. She turned in his embrace and placed a hand over his heart. Her tone was serious, her words even more so, "I'm working on all this." She waved a hand over her shoulder in acknowledgment of the things she couldn't yet name, "It's a lot. And I … And sometimes I think that I don't deserve your support after all that happened. I handled it badly. Whatever I felt, I shouldn't have said it to you like that. I should've done better by you. I should've tried harder."

His expression was serious, but his eyes were warm. "No."

She frowned, "What does that mean?"

He remained silent.

She studied his face; she was sure she could see humour hiding behind his solemnity. "For god's sake, Harm, say something."

His eyebrow quirked, amusement twitched one corner of his lips, "That wasn't the kind of question I could say yes or no to."

She nudged his shoulder playfully. "Jerk."

He took her teasing in stride and grabbed her hand before she could pull it away completely. Then, he glanced down at their joined hands and sobered. "Mac. We haven't been at our best for a long time. And," he ran his fingers along her cheek, "you deserve everything the world has to offer, Sarah."

She leaned into his touch. "I'm working on trying to believe that."

His eyes roamed her face, "Through this entire screw-up, or maybe because of it, I realized something."

She waited for him to continue, but he remained silent, his attention riveted on her face, "What?" she prodded.

His gaze focussed on her eyes, "I'd rather lead a completely screwed up life with you in it, than a perfect one without you."

That might just have been the most sweetly dysfunctional compliment she'd ever been given. "With our track record …" She trailed off, looking away. No, she wouldn't hide behind banter tonight. She was surrendering her weapons, taking a chance. She tried to memorize the way anticipation and warmth lit his eyes in the moment when she finally took the gamble for her happiness, for their happiness. "I'll always be in your life, Harm—however you want me."

"I just want you." He leaned towards her and brushed his lips against hers. Deliberately, they deepened the kiss, trading doubts and confusion for promises and declarations.

When they pulled apart, Mac rested her forehead against his, yet again fighting the sudden urge to cry. He tightened his embrace, pulling her closer. He must have sensed her distress. She tried to shrug it off. She would not cry. She would _not_ cry. "This is silly. I don't know what …"

"Not silly, Mac." His soft voice chipped away at her tenuous resolve, "Hey, it's going to be okay." He pulled her closer still, rested his cheek on top of her head.

With those words, with the feel of him around her, the dam broke. She wanted to believe it so badly. Wanted to believe in the comfort he was offering, the words he was giving her. She burrowed deeper into him, wishing she could just crawl inside him, wrap herself in his scent, feel the coarseness of his cheek against her temple and the low vibration of his voice against her ear forever. And he was offering her forever. She couldn't hold back her tears. She buried her face in his neck and curled her fists into his shirt, trembling as she cried.

He held her tightly, silently.

Long minutes later, her tears slowed and she wiped her face with the back of her hand. She rested her head against his shoulder. Her nose grazed the damp column of his neck. It seemed to her as though her skin had been shed along with her tears, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

Silence settled over them again, but it was a different kind of silence—heady with hope and promises and glimmers of sunlight. Another memory surfaced, unbidden. This one of her grandmother telling her about the magic that floated in this world—magic that skirted the edges of disbelief and hung in the air like fairy dust, suspended and sparkling and waiting to be seen through the eyes of faith. She'd never believed her grandmother's tale before this moment. She'd never had reason to look for magic before. But tonight she could see it.

It was spellbinding.

Mac pulled back to look at Harm.

He was watching her fondly and she thought that right now, maybe he believed in magic, too.

She trailed her fingers along his jaw, traced his lower lip.

Suddenly, fondness transformed into playful smugness.

"What?" She asked indulgently, waiting for the punch line.

"I've never felt like Georgie Porgie before."

"What?" She frowned, perplexed. Georgie Porgie?

"Pudding and pie." He grinned. "Kissed the girls and made them cry."

Mac laughed, shaking her head. It never failed to amuse her how he could wear cockiness like a second skin.

He sobered slightly. "I hope to get different results next time."

Mac arched an eyebrow as her fingers resumed tracing his lower lip. "And when would that be?"

His eyes darkened with intent and he leaned in to offer another kiss, this one warm and deep.

Mac smiled at him as the kiss ended. "How's that?"

Harm shifted against the sofa and turned her to face him. She was pleasantly surprised to find herself straddling him as he reclined along the length of the couch. He rested his hands on her hips and sighed with satisfaction, "Much better."

"Well, I think we should give it another go. I know what a perfectionist you are."

He happily complied, bringing his lips to hers.

A few minutes later, Harm murmured between kisses. "This is shaping up to be a wonderful Christmas."

Mac draped her arms over his shoulders and laid a trail of kisses along his jaw. "I had hoped it would."

She felt his pause and knew that he was about to put the pieces into place.

"You planned this ..."

She pulled away and studied him. She was feeling ...euphoric. The mission had been a resounding success. Hell, she could probably use the momentum from this win to take over the whole damn world. She informed him of the obvious, "A Marine always has a plan."

She noted that he was gleefully grinning away, arrogance brightening his eyes. "And if I'd said that I was seeing Alicia?"

She knew he was teasing, but she suddenly felt the age-old insecurities latch onto her happiness and squeeze. She dropped her gaze and counted the buttons on his shirt to give herself time to regroup. McCool definitely wasn't a quack—this wasn't easy and it definitely wasn't a quick fix. But, she reminded herself, she was sitting on Harm's lap and they were making out like it was going out of style. She looked up and gave him a mischievous wink. "Oh, I was ready to fight for you."

Harm raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He stretched out the syllables, sounding surprised and pleased.

"Yes." She nodded. "Not only am I an expert marksman, I'm also trained in hand-to-hand and kickboxing. Taking on a law professor for you is small fry." She was dismayed by the note of vulnerability in her voice. Well, she reasoned, he'd seen her at her worst and then three notches beyond that, and he was still here. It was time to stop worrying.

His next words surprised her. "You've had me for a long time, Sarah MacKenzie."

Mac traced his eyebrow with her finger, her other hand resting on his chest. "That was sweet, Harmon Rabb."

He grinned, brushing her hair from her face before returning his hands to her hips, "It was, wasn't it."

She laughed, partly distracted by how the slight stubble on his cheek felt under her fingers. It occurred to her that in all the years she had known him, she had never really touched his face or, for that matter, felt his skin against hers. There had always been a barrier. Unless, of course, one or the other of them was in mortal danger. This was a nice change.

"So you had a contingency plan?" His thumbs were tracing slow circles on her hipbones.

"Yes, a plan B." She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, enjoying the feel of it. They had so much of each other to explore. So much to touch and to feel, so much to give.

He closed his eyes and sighed as she continued her ministrations. "And what was plan B?"

She stilled her motions and waited for his eyes to open and focus on her. When they did, she beamed at him.

"Handcuff you to your bed and have my way with you until I was all you could see."

"You already are all I see," he said matter-of-factly.

She hadn't smiled as much in the last six months as she was tonight. And the night was still young. "Wow, Rabb," she swatted his chest playfully. "That's the second sweet thing you've said to me tonight."

"Only the best for you, Sweetness," he winked.

She hadn't laughed this much in the last six months, either, "Hat trick!"

"Well, don't get used to it, Marine," he warned, his hands slid up her waist.

"Don't you worry, Sailor. The day you become predictable is the day I become a vegetarian."

He mulled over her comments for a moment. "I think we could work on that."

"How about we work on other things." She leaned in for another kiss but he stopped her, their lips inches apart.

His expression was intent. "I love you, Mac," he whispered. Then he bridged those last inches and kissed her, pulling her down until she was lying on top of him. The kiss was ardent and consuming and ended too quickly, by about twenty years.

She struggled to catch her breath, and stared at him, memorizing the way happiness and affection lit his eyes when they took their first step in beating the odds. "I love you. So much." Her voice trembled and was unsteady, but she had never been more certain of anything.

He caught her lips in another searing kiss, his hands gliding down her back, around her hips and along her waist, caressing her sides. She was halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when he asked, his lips never leaving hers, "Did you really bring handcuffs?"

Her laughter floated through the magic surrounding them.


End file.
